


Android Update 5.12

by connorssock



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, Gavin is an asshole, Gen, Hallucinations, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Paranoia, Sick Connor, Temporary loss of sight, Vomiting, but really squint, if you squint could be hank/connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-07-27 03:25:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16210412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorssock/pseuds/connorssock
Summary: Gavin ever so kindly slips Connor a tablet that compiles all updates on the negative aspects of humanity into one, not caring that they've been gradually released and implemented for a reason.





	1. Chapter 1

The tablet was all but thrown across Connor’s desk from the borders of a socially acceptable distance.

“To help you with feeling more human you plastic prick,” Gavin sneered and stalked off. Hank and Connor shared a look before shrugging. It could wait, Connor finished his report and Hank sunk back into whatever daydream he was lost in before the interruption. A quick break was in order and Connor glanced at the tablet Gavin had chucked on his desk. It seemed innocuous enough. Intrigued, Connor pulled it closer, let his forehead rest against his palm in a newly learnt motion of humanism and his free hand linked with the tablet.

What felt like an eternity later Hank glanced up, Connor had been unusually quiet and still opposite him. He briefly wondered whether deviants could become prone to daydreaming. As he looked over at Connor he took in the way he was slouched in his chair, head heavy on his hand. From where he sat he couldn’t see the LED but no doubt it was flashing yellow as he worked his way through whatever was on the tablet. He smiled fondly and shook his head, Connor seemed truly lost in his work. Hank ducked a little lower to see his face and frowned. Connor’s eyes were shut, face utterly blank of emotion, the little dip of a frown when he concentrated was smoothed out in to nothing. Another few seconds of observation and Hank’s unease grew. There was no sign of Connor breathing, no movement at all. He wished he could see the LED.

“Hey, Connor,” he tried but got no response. Hank tried to kick him under the table but couldn’t quite reach. In that moment Gavin wandered by again, a coffee in hand.

“Oi, tinman,” he approached Connor, “it’s only polite to say thank you for something you’re given.”

His hand reached for Connor’s shoulder and shoved sharply. Nobody expected for Connor’s elbow to slide along his desk and proceed to crash to the ground in a boneless heap. Immediately Hank was up and rushing around the desks cursing. From where Connor lay he could see his LED clearly. His mind stuttered to a halt when he saw it blank and off, only occasionally flickering a dim red before going out again.

“What the fuck?” he cried, getting on his knees and reaching for Connor as he glared up at Gavin. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing!” Gavin spat out defensively. “He wanted to be human so I compiled all the updates I could for him to feel as we do. Feel pain, illness, all the negative shit we have to put up with. Now he does too.”

“All of them?” Hank’s voice had gone quite as he growled, the threat of a brawl hung heavy in the air. “All of them at once? Are you some kind of idiot?”

“He doesn’t get to cherry pick the best of humanity,” Gavin’s response was that of a whiny brat slowly realising they’d done wrong.

“Did you never stop to think why they’re being rolled out so slowly? One at a time? That all of it at once might be too much. Didn’t you hear on the news what happened when the first update had too much in it?”

Gavin shook his head and stared down at Connor with a clinical coldness.

“Guess he wasn’t human enough to handle it.”

The roar of frustration Hank let out was only kept verbal without physical altercations by the sheer fact that Connor was still motionless on the ground. A group of officers had gathered around them and were watching with inane curiosity.

“What’s going to happen to him?” someone asked. Hank looked down at Connor with sorrow.

“He’s a newer model, he has a decent chance of pulling through. But it will be hell. He told me about the early cases. Insanity, shut downs, catatonic states. Not pretty,” Hank spoke quietly now, wishing he could help. “Let’s move him somewhere more comfortable. The couch in the breakroom.”

A couple of people helped him lift Connor off the ground. Hank winced when he saw Connor’s cheek where it had hit the ground, a blue bruise was already forming. He was so limp in their arms, limbs flopping unnaturally, head lolling unless supported. Gingerly they lowered him onto the couch and stood back, at a loss as to what to do next.

“Now we wait,” Hank sighed and sat down by Connor’s legs on the sofa. People slowly meandered back to their desks, Fowler bellowed for Gavin to get his arse into his office pronto and Hank sat back to half-heartedly watch the TV while he kept an eye out for any changes in Connor.

It was a long wait, the on and off blinking of his LED became more regular, longer periods spent red until it became its usual steady glow. Someone passed through and left a bag of thirium on the side as a just in case and Hank nodded his thanks. Next to him Connor’s chest started to rise and fall. It still took another half an hour before Connor’s face scrunched up with a little whimper as he tried to curl up but aborted the idea of any movement quickly. Instantly Hank was crouched at his side.

“You’ll be okay,” he tried to reassure him. It felt hollow though, knowing what he did about the updates and the fact that Connor was in for a rough ride.

“Hank,” Connor’s voice broke over the word, his eyes blinked open before slamming shut again, scrunched up tight.

“What do you need?”

“Too bright,” Connor bit out and Hank looked around. Within moments he’d turned the TV off, pulled the blinds down on the windows and pulled the door shut to keep the noise to a minimum. He’d noticed the way Connor flinched with each thump of the blinds hitting the frame.

In the quiet and half dark Connor finally squinted up at Hank.

“How you feeling?” Hank asked as he settled on the couch again.

“Not optimal,” came the honest reply. “I believe I am experiencing what you’d call a migraine.”

Hanks cursed under his breath. His heart twisted in sympathy for Connor, knowing first-hand how bad migraines could be. And the first one could be downright terrifying to experience.

“I don’t know much about android medicines and how to help. But maybe some thirium would help,” he suggested even as he grabbed a mug and poured the blue liquid into it. Returning to Connor’s side he set it on the ground and reached to help ease Connor into a sitting position. The android swayed a little as he sat and in a human gesture held the side of his head as though it would help ease the pain.

“Easy does it, little sips,” Hank encouraged him when he was sure Connor wasn’t going to keel over again. After a few small mouthfuls which were visibly difficult to swallow Connor pushed the mug away. Wordlessly Hank took it and set it on the floor. They sat in silence, Connor’s eyes shut against the onslaught of agony. He squirmed, feet digging into the seat of the couch and whimpered. It sent Hank to full alert and he reached helplessly for Connor.

“Hank,” Connor breathed, his mouth was open as he drew in shallow breaths, eyes still scrunched shut. “Hank, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

As gently as possible Hank sat down next to Connor and wound a hand round his shoulders.

“That’s okay. Where does it hurt?”

Wordlessly Connor grabbed his free hand and put it over his stomach.

“It feels,” he panted, “wrong. Like, oh, I don’t know. I don’t feel good.” A tear slipped down his cheek against his will and he pushed his cheek into Hank’s shoulder. Too warm puffs of air blew against Hank’s neck rapidly. Suddenly Connor sat bolt upright, a hand pushed Hank away. He shuddered, his shoulders rolled and he heaved up thick, oily thirium. It landed on his shirt, more of the viscous blue-black stuff dribbled down his chin as Connor gasped, trying to make sense of what was happening. His gagging stopped and he glanced down at his shirt.

“Oh,” he sounded distraught as he took in the sight of his dirtied shirt. “I am so sorry.” He looked ready to cry and Hank jumped to reassure him. He shushed him, murmured nonsense about it being alright, it happening to everyone. But it seemed to make no difference to Connor who sat there, balefully staring at his ruined clothes as big fat tears started dripping down his cheeks.

“My clothes,” Connor hiccoughed, “they, I, I ruined them. I can’t be seen like this.”

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Hank replied on autopilot as he tried to find a solution. “Give me a moment.”

He walked to the door and opened it as quietly as possible to slip out without anyone seeing Connor behind him on the couch.

“Miller,” he called softly to the nearest person. Once he got their attention he held up a set of keys. “White bag in my locker. Get it for me, knock quietly on the door but don’t come in.”

He threw the keys and didn’t wait for acknowledgement before turning to return to Connor’s side. The android was quietly sniffling and trying to curb his tears. On his way back Hank grabbed a trashcan.

“Just in case,” he smiled gently. “But first, let’s get you out of those clothes.” He didn’t comment on how sweat made the shirt cling to Connor’s back. Instead he helped the android pull his arms free of the jacket, loosened his tie to pull it over his head and helped unbutton the shirt and peeled it from clammy skin.

“Hank,” Connor’s voice was tight with panic, his mouth open again as he drew sharp breaths. Hank knew the signs and reached for the trashcan which Connor hugged to his chest miserably, heedless of the cold metal against heated skin. A minute later he heaved miserably and Hank could hear the soft splatter of thirium hitting the bottom of the metal can. He passed Connor a tissue to wipe his mouth and another to wipe his eyes where his eyelashes clumped together wetly.

There was a soft knock on the door and Hank opened it a crack, took the bag which was pushed through the gap with a soft “thanks” before returning to Connor. The trashcan was held gingerly between his fingers, back bowed to keep the metal from his skin.

“I’m cold,” Connor mumbled miserably.

“We can deal with that,” Hank reassured him and gestured to the trashcan. “You done with that?”

Tentatively Connor nodded and let Hank take it from lax fingers. The white bag was put on the ground and despite protesting knees Hank knelt on the ground next to the couch. With little flourish he pulled a soft looking grey hoodie from it with peeling letters that declared “Detroit Police Department” over it.

“My first DPD hoodie. Saw me through many a tough moment. Will see you through this too,” he offered the garment to Connor who backed away from it in a panic.

“What if I throw up on it?” he asked hoarsely. Hank shrugged.

“Then we wash it. No big deal. Now put it on before I dress you.”

Fight gone from him, Connor reached with shaking hands for the hoodie and pulled it on. It swamped him as he nestled into it, chin buried in the neckline and arms flopping loosely over his hands.

“I’ll get you home when you feel up to it,” Hank offered quietly and Connor nodded. His eyes were slipping shut again and Hank sat up on the couch next to him with an arm round him to encourage Connor to lie back against him.

“Thank you, Hank.”

It was the last thing he said before he fell into what Hank would describe as sleep while Connor insisted on calling stand-by mode. His LED still spun red but there was the occasional flicker of yellow too now.


	2. Chapter 2

The soft knock on the door had Connor stirring against Hank. He whimpered and tried to burrow into his chest a little more as the door opened and someone slipped through.

“How you doing Connor?” Fowler’s voice was soft as he crouched down.

“I’m afraid I am not fit for duty in my current state,” Connor rasped. His systems were working through all the updates and he sounded hoarse with the potential threat of bunged up. Opposite him Fowler let out a small laugh.

“I wouldn’t expect any officer to work while ill, you’re no different. Why don’t you head home?”

“I’ll need to call a taxi,” Connor replied with a sniffle. He frowned and wiped his nose on the sleeve of the hoodie.

“That’s gross. Use a tissue,” Hank groused from behind him.

“Sorry Hank,” Connor mumbled and ducked his head in shame.

“Here,” Fowler passed him a tissue and glanced up at Hank, “and don’t worry about a taxi. I’m sure Hank can get you home just fine. It’s not like he was doing much other than daydreaming at his desk anyway.”

Connor held the tissue in his hand and looked at it with fierce concentration. After a moment he sniffed and wiped his nose again.

“Blow your nose,” Hank encouraged him. It earned him a confused look from Connor and he blew air from his mouth up towards his nose. Fowler quickly turned away to hold back his laugh and let Hank deal with it.

“No, use the tissue and blow your nose into it.”

“Oh,” the revelation was clear in Connor’s voice as he did as instructed.

“Good. How’s your head and stomach?”

“Manageable,” Connor replied after a beat.

“Think you’re up to walking to the car?”

Another moment and Connor nodded. Cautiously they clambered off the couch and Connor swayed on his feet. Instantly Hank was wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him. Once certain that he wasn’t going to collapse, they made their way to the door. Before Fowler opened it Hank pulled the hood up around Connor’s head.

“To keep the light out,” he explained and steered them out the door. The entire bullpen was empty and silent. Hank looked at Fowler behind them with curiosity.

“Noisy and nosy lot, sent them all into the archives so you can leave quietly. Except Reed. He’s on two weeks of traffic duty.”

“There’s no need to punish him so much Captain,” Connor piped up from under the hood, “he was only trying to help in his own way.”

“I know Reed,” Fowler replied with a sad sigh, “I know his brand of helping and this was not it, sorry kid.”

They walked to Hank’s car slowly. As Connor lowered himself onto the seat, Hank glanced up. There were faces pressed against the window as they stared at them. Next to him Fowler waved them off angrily and they all disappeared.

“Get well soon Connor,” he said before he returned back to work.

The car ride was silent. Music didn’t blare from the speakers; Hank drove as smoothly and carefully as possible. The few times he looked over at Connor his eyes were shut and a small frown had taken up residence on his brow.

Finally they made it back to the house and Hank turned the engine off, Connor didn’t even stir. Walking around the car, Hank opened the door and leaned across Connor to undo his seatbelt before trying to rouse him. It wasn’t easy and only on the third, firmer, shake did Connor blink his eyes open.

“Come on sleepy,” Hank pulled and Connor followed him.

They were greeted at the door by Sumo who bounced around their feet but quickly settled when the usual fuss was not forthcoming. He eyed them with big remorseful eyes from his bed and sulked. Hank steered them towards the bedroom and helped Connor into a controlled collapse onto the bed.

Shivers ran through his entire body and Connor tried to curl up best he could. Without a second thought Hank settled on the bed behind him and pulled the covers over them and curled around Connor, an arm slug across his chest.

“You’re burning up,” he murmured in his ear and helped tug the hood down.

“But I’m so cold.” Connor’s teeth were chattering.

“Sounds like the flu. I’ll get you some warmed up thirium later.”

“Stay?” Connor mumbled and Hank pulled him closer in response. He wasn’t going to let Connor out of his sight for a good little while. There was no telling what other misery the updates were going to rain down on him and Hank was going to do his best to help him weather them. Idly his mind drifted to upset tummies, delirium, joint ache and all the other things that came with being ill. He didn’t wish any of that on Connor but it seemed they now had no choice but to deal with whatever luck brought their way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because a certain couple of people keep feeding me ideas of what else to throw at poor Connor. Fevered delusions and joint pain is on the menu today.

He didn’t mean to fall asleep in the first place. Hank blinked his eyes open groggily as Connor struggled to sit up.

“Connor?” he rumbled and pushed up onto an elbow.

The solid wall of heat that had been Connor curled up against him shifted and the bed dipped. With a light sway Connor was sitting up on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped and muttering something.

Before Hank could say anything, Connor lurched upright, shuffling through stiff joints and stumbled.

“Connor?” Hank asked again and kicked the covers off. He rounded the bed and grabbed Connor’s shoulders. His palms almost burned with the heat and the frown etched on his brows was slowly becoming permanent.

“Let’s get you back to bed; I’ll get you a wet towel.”

The problem was that when an android decided that it didn’t want to go somewhere then it was almost impossible to move it. Connor was rooted to the spot, eyes hazy and tear brimmed.

“Hank.” The tears carried over to his voice too and Hank’s heart constricted at the pain it was laced with. “Please don’t Hank.”

He tried to take another step and Hank swore he could hear his joints squeaking in protest.

“I need to hide it,” Connor mumbled and staggered towards the kitchen.

“Hide what?”

“Hide it- The gun- Before Hank,” Connor’s words were a jumble, puffs of breath escaped him in pants as he trailed off midsentence only to start another half formed thought.

“The gun,” he whined again and stumbled towards the door. Connor cried out for Hank and tears slipped down his face. More pleas for Hank not to and for the gun to be hidden came tumbling nonsensically out of Connor.

Whatever nightmarish scenario Connor was living through, it was obvious Hank couldn’t break into it. He watched helplessly as the tears that had been threatening to spill slowly dripped down Connor’s fever flushed cheeks.

The half sentences stopped making sense, slurred together as Connor struggled towards the kitchen. Behind him Hank tried to keep a hand on his back to steady him but it was hopeless. Slowly the slurring gave way to half panted moans and Connor stopped just shy of the doorway. He blinked owlishly, eyes unfocussed.

“Hank?” he asked, voice clearer than it had been since he woke up. There was fear and confusion in it and as Hank watched his eyes slipped shut. That was all the warning before Connor tumbled to the ground with a solid thump. Instantly Hank was by his side, hands stroking through Connor’s hair and searching for a reaction.

Nothing. Connor lay lifeless on the ground; limbs limp despite the earlier stiffness he was suffering. Briefly, Hank wondered whether androids needed to be rolled onto their side and into a recovery position. It probably wouldn’t hurt; he decided and carefully moved Connor. Then he sat back and waited.

While Connor was asleep, Hank had the chance to do a bit of research and reading. He knew that there was nothing that could be done about the updates and any android who was overwhelmed by them had to tough it out. Repair centres had been inundated with calls but there was no solution to be had other than giving things time.

Waiting, it turned out, was something Hank was horrible at. He didn’t want to leave Connor out cold on the ground but he couldn’t lift him either. In a sick mockery of all those months back, Hank tried to rouse Connor with gentle hands running through his hair and down his cheek. He kept a careful eye on the LED which pulsed red in time with Connor’s thirium pump’s beat.

It took a few minutes that felt more like hours before an inhuman moan escaped Connor’s lips as he came to.

“You’re okay, you’re home and safe,” Hank murmured and his fingers laced with Connor’s blindly reaching ones.

“Hank?” Connor rasped and his eyes flickered open in confusion. “Where?”

“Home. You fainted and were delusional. Probably overheating from a fever.”

“Oh.” The sound Connor made was so small and lost it made Hank’s battered heart break a little more.

Once he was certain Connor wasn’t going to keel over again he gently helped him up.

“Perhaps a cool shower might help?” he offered and Connor nodded.

It seemed as though he had no energy left and Hank half carried half dragged him through the house until they got to the bathtub. There, he sat Connor on the edge and watched as Connor’s eyes slipped shut.

“So tired,” Connor sighed and ran a hand through his already messy hair.

“Let’s cool you down a little, get some thirium in you and then you can go back to sleep, deal?”

Again, Connor nodded and let Hank manhandle him with care. Behind him the shower started up and a lukewarm spray hit his back. It made him squirm, his t-shirt clung to his back.

“Tip your head back.” Hanks’ hand was against his forehead to keep the water out his eyes as it cascaded through his hair.

The water felt nice, not too cold to shock his systems but cool enough to draw out the worst of the heat in his body. Keeping his t-shirt on had the added benefit of even when the water was turned off, Connor was enveloped in a cooling layer until Hank wrapped a towel around him.

“If I leave you sat on the toilet for a moment will you be okay?”

“Yes.”

Hank helped him over to it and sat him on the closed lid. It was strange, having his limbs so heavy and uncooperative. It Connor hadn’t been feeling so weak with a pounding headache he might have even tried to analyse what was going on with his body. For now though he settled with the miserable knowledge that he felt awful and left it at that.

As promised, Hank was back within a minute, a small glass of blue thirium in his hands. He helped raise it to Connor’s lips when a shaking hand reached for it. Only a few sips trickled down Connor’s throat before he was pushing the glass away. His eyelids felt heavy and he listed sideways.

“Whoa, hey,” Hank quickly put the glass to the side as he reached with the other to keep Connor upright.

It took them a few minutes to get Connor back up, knees and hips protesting with angry flares of pain at being moved. They staggered through the bedroom door and Connor wanted to protest. He was still soggy from his shower; the bed didn’t need that kind of mess on it. However his protests died on his lips when he saw that towels had already been laid down. Plus Hank didn’t stop in his stride, merely jostled Connor along until he was back on the bed, the towels scratching lightly against his skin.

Before sleep pulled him under again, Connor’s hand shot out and grabbed Hank’s wrist.

“Thank you,” he said with as much earnestness as he could muster.

By the time Hank got his wits about him to reply, Connor was already drifting off.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took longer than expected. But have some cramps and worries about health.

They’d been awake for a little while, Hank sat up with his back against the backboard while Connor was curled up on his side. It seemed that perhaps the worse of the update was over and they were cautiously optimistic about the chances of returning to work. In the quiet of the room, absorbed in his book as he was, Hank missed the first few signs of Connor shifting around. Small huffs, wriggling in the sheets and a quiet whine caught in his throat eventually drew his attention.

“You okay there?” Hank asked quietly.

“Fine,” Connor replied as he drew his knees closer to his chest. He sounded many things but not fine and Hank put his book to the side with a frown. It seemed that maybe whatever had troubled Connor was settling when the android gave a full body shiver and a groan. He hugged his knees to his chest and buried his face in the cover as Hank laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Talk to me,” he asked softly.

Connor’s head popped up, eyes squinting and mouth twisted into a grimace.

“It feels like my chassis is trying to implode.”

Hank squeezed his shoulder in sympathy and at a loss as to what that even really meant.  But it wasn’t his understanding that was needed in that moment, simply the reassurance that it was going to be okay.

Another wave passed through Connor and he whimpered. It was as though a black hole had taken up residence in his abdomen and was trying to pull everything in. With a trembling hand he reached down, sure he was going to find his chassis indented under the inexplicable pressure. Having a migraine seemed infinitely more preferable in that instant; at least there he knew what caused what. Behind him the bed shifted as Hank moved to get up.

“Please don’t leave me,” Connor gasped out, afraid to spend the agony alone. He wasn’t sure he could push himself through it all by himself. A warm hand ran through his hair and a dry kiss was pressed to his forehead.

“I have an idea, give me two minutes,” Hank murmured into his hair.

Connor set a two minute timer to count down in the corner of his vision. It gave him something to focus on, something to distract him from the sheer terror of facing the pain without anyone there to guide him through it. He pressed a hand against his stomach to try and quell the pain the undulated through him.

“Here,” Hank’s voice was closer than expected and Connor forced his eyes open. He hadn’t even heard Hank come back and the time in the corner of his vision suggested more than three minutes had passed.

Something warm was pressed under his hand and against his stomach. It was a hot water bottle wrapped in a towel. Its heat seeped into him, made thirium flow easier through his network which felt a little less throttled.

“How?” he managed to force out between gritted teeth.

“Let’s just say I remember a few things,” Hank shrugged and the bed dipped as he settled back on top of the covers. “I don’t think Gavin particularly bothered to differentiate between picking male and female designated updates.”

“Oh,” Connor squeezed his eyes shut against another onslaught but it wasn’t as bad this time, the heat definitely helped.

“May I try another thing?” Hank asked softly and Connor nodded mutely.

Warm, firm hands spread across the small of his back and thumbs began to dig into his chassis. They found where the panels were slotted together and rubbed firmly over them. It eased the tension that had crept through Connor’s entire being, slowly loosened him out. The waves of pain were still there but it was easier to breathe through them.

Slowly, he unfurled a little, still curled up but much more loosely, the hot water bottle clutched to his stomach while Hank’s hands soothed his back. After a few more minutes Connor shifted and turned onto his other side to face Hank.

“Thank you,” he said, mind the clearest it had been since he interfaced with the infernal tablet. The warm smile and sad eyes that Hank looked over at him with made him squirm for some reason. It had never bothered him before, how Hank would sometimes glance at him but now it made something in his mind itch. A little blossom of worry bloomed. The fear that whatever ailments Gavin had compiled on the tablet were not purely physical. In a fit of humanity Connor worried his bottom lip and pondered how he would realise when things tipped from natural worry to anxiety, from feeling sad into depression. He had no frame of reference for these things and yet he was reluctant to ask. Words like paranoia raced through his mind and he didn’t know how to shut them off.

“Hey,” Hank’s voice brought him back to the present, cut off the whirlwind of thoughts that plagued him.

“Sorry,” Connor replied.

“You’re going to be fine. A few days of feeling RAF and then it will be back to business as usual.”

“I don’t understand what the Royal Air Force has to do with any of this?” Connor’s question had Hank barking out a laugh.

“Nothing what so ever. RAF in this case means Rough As Fuck.”

Wordlessly Connor nodded along, storing the information away for future reference. He may not ever need it, but it was nice to have some phrases stored away. And maybe replay the moment of Hank’s laugh when things were looking particularly dark. Connor couldn’t say he was looking forward to seeing what else the updates unleashed on him, but at least he had Hank to guide him through the worst of it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be paranoia, hallucinations and preconstructed murderous thoughts.

Returning to work was a blessing. Connor walked to his desk, conscious that he’d left things in a haphazard disorder when he was taken ill. It was a strange concept, an android that felt unwell. The updates were something he’d contemplated getting but decided against them as they would have impeded his work greatly, but now, without much choice he had them. Uninstalling it all was probably the better part of a week’s work, unpicking each strand of code that had woven into his very being. It was going to be better to leave it a little while, until he had some time off to perhaps try to undo the damage.

To say that Connor had been anxious about going back to the precinct was an understatement. He worried that people would think less of him, wouldn’t trust him as much now that he was fallible. A glitch in his code and he was rendered useless thanks to an array of crippling pains. His concerns went beyond people at the precinct though; thoughts of Amanda returning now that his code had been weakened preyed on his mind.

Together, he and Hank sat down at the respective desks and Connor glanced around. Nobody was looking at him, nothing beyond the usual greetings had happened. Yet he couldn’t get the feeling of someone watching him out of his system. To be certain, he ran a quick diagnostic scan which revealed nothing.

The morning wore on and the feelings mounted. Something was going to happen, his code was going to warp and glitch and he was going to be on the floor again. The reassurance of another self-diagnostic scan helped but not enough. So Connor ran another one just to be sure.

Across the room Miller stared at him and Connor shifted lower in his seat, blocking the officer’s view. Briefly he wondered whether Miller knew that something was wrong with him, that maybe Amanda was just waiting to spring into action, force his hand. Connor’s preconstruction systems fired up and he was almost helpless in his own body to watch how easy it would be to reach for his gun, pull it, and flick the safety off. Hank was the closest but statistically he was going to be most hesitant to react so the first bullet would be between Officer Chen’s eyes. From there it would be the simple matter of spinning on his heel, two chest shots to Tanner at his desk, vault over the desk behind to execute the line of police androids lined up against the wall firing squad style. That would leave enough time for Fowler to come out of his office and two bullets left to fire. The first to Fowler’s head and the second levelled at Hank. As the final shot rang out in his program, Connor jerked out of it with a gasp.

“You okay there?” Hank asked over the desk, concern pulling his brows low.

“Just residual programming glitches,” Connor replied.

He couldn’t let anyone realise he was malfunctioning. Another diagnostic scan revealed nothing. But he could head Amanda’s voice and he looked around the precinct wildly to find her. She wasn’t there, nor was she in the Zen garden. Yet she was singing a soft lullaby and laughing cruelly at Connor somewhere. Diagnostics still came up inconclusive.

In the breakroom a coffee cup shattered and Connor reached for his gun. Amanda was taunting him now, leaving little hints of where she was, when she was going to pop up. Miller, Hank and Fowler were eyeing Connor up, not with concern but with hostility. It wasn’t Connor’s fault. Whatever it was, he didn’t do it. It was Amanda they all needed to be worried about.

Scan after scan after scan, all revealed nothing. Amanda wasn’t in his head. His program wasn’t twisted around the code Gavin had introduced. And now Officer Chen was staring at him from her desk, finger running around the rim of her cup. Connor was certain that was meant to be a distraction while her other hand ran a finger across her throat in a cutting motion. Behind him, Miller laughed and Connor hated him for rejoicing in this terrifying little game.

“Connor!” Hank’s voice was sharp and loud, it broke through the ooze of panic.

A look around the bullpen and Connor saw people looking at him with worry, half hiding behind desks. He glanced down and saw his gun in his hand, safety off. Amanda’s voice cackled gleefully and Connor’s head whipped around, trying to find her.

“Put the gun down.”

The voice drew his attention back to Hank, with trembling hands he put the gun down, though his fingers convulsed around butt, reluctant to give it up. He watched as Hank slowly reached over and whisked it away, safety clicking back on, ominous in the silence.

A diagnostic scan came up empty again.

People were staring at him. He wondered what they saw that he couldn’t, frustration bubbled through him.

“Why are you all staring at me?” he yelled and pushed away from the desk, standing, and ready to fight his way out of the station, needing to flee.

“Hey now,” Hank was calm in the face of his outburst, still sat at his desk. “Nobody’s out to hurt you.”

Slowly, telegraphing each move, Hank rose from his chair and walked towards him, palms facing Connor. It made something bristle in him; he was no wild animal that needed placating. At least Amanda’s voice had been lost in his fury. Connor was ready to bolt, keyed up and needing an out.

“What are your stress levels?”

The question was simple, Hank stood to one side, leaving the path to the door open. Connor blinked and retrieved the number.

“88 percent,” he said and Hank hummed.

“Doing quite the red lightshow there, not surprised it’s so high. Why don’t was go somewhere quiet and dark? Might help you relax a little.”

People were still staring and Connor was itching to get out of the spotlight. He watched as Hank shifted, opened up a different path of escape towards the interrogation rooms. It was an out. Despite his assessment of surrounding dangers, Connor disagreed with his statistics. Hank was safe. Hank meant help. Even if he was labelled as an android murderer in his HUD.

Slowly, Connor walked towards the interrogation rooms. He saw Hank move from the corner of his eyes, falling in step just behind him. People averted their eyes as they walked past and only when they were in the darkened, mirrored room of the interrogation cell did Connor feel a little more at ease.

“Stress levels?” Hank asked again.

“79 percent,” Connor replied with his eyes closed.

“I’m going to hug you,” Hank said without much preamble.

The first touch had Connor stiffening up, uncomfortable at the restriction around his form, yearning for the freedom to move as he pleased. Then the heat began to seep into him, Hank’s warm hands on his back, the steady beat of his heart, the whoosh of air as he breathed and all the soft sounds of being alive. It was something to focus on and Connor slowly relaxed into the hold.

He didn’t even realise his eyes had slipped shut and he’d tucked his head into the crook of Hank’s neck, seeking comfort however he could.

“You’re all yellow now.” The words rumbled through Hank and Connor felt a small smile tug at his lips.

“Stress levels at 54 percent,” Connor informed him almost without realising.

“That’s good. When you get below twenty we’ll talk about what happened. But until then, just take it easy. I’ve got you.”

Talking didn’t sound good. Connor’s stress spiked momentarily but Hank pulled him closer with a soft hum. The worries of talking through what happened abated, giving the feelings words wasn’t going to bring them back, wasn’t going to catapult Connor into another spiralling bout. He was fairly certain that it would actually have to opposite effect, parcelling up the sprawling waves of emotions into easily manageable chunks. It wasn’t going to be easy, but he was fairly certain Hank would help.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the words of a very good friend of mine: depression is a dick.

The bed was warm and soft under Connor’s back. He slowly opened his eyes; the effort of it was almost too much. Everything felt heavy, slow and tiring. Androids shouldn’t feel fatigue, shouldn’t desire to go back to sleep, if even sleep wasn’t such an effort. Connor lay on his back, unmoving and stared at the ceiling.

Sometime later, the door creaked open and Hank stuck his head in, quiet until he saw that Connor was awake. Even turning his head felt like an impossible task but Connor forced his neck to twist so he could see the door properly.

“How are you feeling?” Hank asked.

After the previous day’s anxiety and paranoia he was hesitant to approach Connor, worried it might set him off again. It wasn’t going to be the case though, Connor was too tired to do anything, even if Amanda were to burst into the room and do an Irish jig while taunting him with a gun. The image should have made Connor smile at least but he stared blankly at Hank. Finally, he remembered that he’d been asked a question.

“Okay,” his voice was flat.  Not like an android pre-deviation, even they were programmed with a more lilting tone. Instead, it was utterly devoid of everything, not just emotions but also a zest for life.

“You sound many things but not okay,” Hank countered and he walked into the bedroom. With a heavy sigh he sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at Connor who stared back. “Talk to me, what’ going on in that supercomputer of a brain of yours?”

Connor blinked slowly. He didn’t want anything going through his mind. Not a list of his past failures where he failed to meet mission objectives. Or the choices he’d made that caused upset. He didn’t want to think about the looks of disappointment sent his way by Amanda, Hank, Fowler, Reed and anybody else he encountered. How perhaps they’d all be happier if he could disappear off the face of the planet as though he’d never existed.

“Nothing,” he eventually settled on and wished that were true.

“Is that nothing with a side helping of ‘everything I’ve ever cocked up in my life’?”

A warm hand squeezed his shoulder and Connor focussed back on Hank’s face with some effort. He wanted to deny it, perhaps deny his very existence too. Before the words would come, Hank spoke up again.

“Trust me, I know the feeling a little too well. When you just want to walk out the door and keep walking until you fall off the edge of the planet. If only you had the energy to get up and actually do it.”

“How?” Connor asked. He wanted to be horrified that Hank knew not only how he felt but also let empathy swallow him up for the other man having gone through these feelings too. And likely without any kind of support. But was much as Connor wanted to feel, the numb echo of nothing reverberated through his whole being.

“After yesterday’s little glitch, well, I’d guessed depression might kick in at some point too. Call it a hunch,” Hank shrugged and gave him a sad smile. “I’m sorry you’re having to go through this.”

“Not your fault,” Connor finally managed to find the effort to string a few words together. It still wasn’t much but it felt like he’d climbed Everest without his thirium pump.

“Nor is it yours. Come on, I have an idea.”

Hank left the room and Connor stayed lying in bed. He blinked at the space Hank had occupied and worried that he was dragging the other man down, pulling him away from work and friends. All because he couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed. He desperately wished he could cry, but the protocol for tears was buried under a layer of apathy, it was too difficult to dig through it all for a few tears that would change nothing.

The door opened up again and a giant bundle of throws, an extra duvet and pillows floated in, followed by what was probably Hank buried under the mountain while Sumo trotted at his heels.

“Let’s sit you up,” Hank said as soon as he dumped what he was carrying on the end of the bed.

He didn’t give Connor the chance to reply, to even think about a protest. Warm hands urged Connor’s heavy limbs into a semblance of order, took their weight as he was sat up. A blanket was draped around his shoulders; pillows were stacked behind him until it was almost as though a one man fort had been built. It was soft and heavy in the most comforting of ways. They weighed Connor down, anchored his mind in the physical world.

Once again the bed dipped and Hank settled on the bed next to him. He smiled encouragingly and brandished couple of books.

“You’ve got a choice. I’ll either read you stories or we can flip through my old photo album and I’ll regale you with what was going when each of them was taken, okay? So, choose.”

He held up the two books and Connor dragged his eyes between the two slowly.

It felt like an impossible task, he wanted to choose the one that would make Hank happy. The one that brought up fewer bad memories. On one hand, the photo album might include pictures of better times, of when Cole was around. On the other hand, the stories might have been Cole’s favourites or even reading might remind Hank of the countless bedtime stories he’d read.

“Album,” he finally settled on.

Nodding encouragingly, Hank placed the book of stories to the side and settled in next to Connor. He put an arm around his shoulders, pulled him close.

“My android burrito wanted the photo album so that’s what he’s going to get,” he said and opened up the first page. “This is Albus, he was my first dog,” he began.

Connor let the words wash over him. He couldn’t recite a single event Hank told him about but there were glimpses of photos in his memory now. A Christmas party where Fowler had hair and Reed looked fresh out of the Academy. Hank smiling, holding a puppy Sumo in one hand and a firmly wrapped up baby Cole in the other. At that picture, Hank’s voice went soft, his finger stroked over the baby gently and a wistful sigh left his lips.

“I’m grateful for the years I had with him,” he admitted quietly. “I wish you could have met him.”

Connor shifted, pressed more of his weight into Hank, words still too complex to form. A warm kiss was pressed to the top of his head in silent thanks. The page turned and Hank let out a soft huff of a laugh.

“This was the year I forgot to put sun cream on while marshalling a parade.”

His voice went on, rising and falling with each word in a lull that was finally enough for Connor’s mind to fill itself with, block out all the emptiness of before until he could actually fall asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Waking up, it took Connor a few seconds to get his optical units to focus. Perhaps it was one of the updates that were still coursing its way through his circuits, lingering from the migraine and the light sensitivity. He didn’t think much of it. What he wanted to do was forget all about it, the incident at the precinct with the anxiety and paranoia, the depression that followed. All Connor wanted was to get on with things and get back to work. He wanted to forget everything that had happened in the last couple of weeks.

They got to work, Hank drove and Connor tried to blink the blurring from his vision. Everything existed in a soft haze. He could still make out shapes, but some of the finer detail was lost. He hoped it was a glitch that he could shake off as the day wore on.

Luck was not on his side, no matter how hard he blinked, how often he rubbed at his eyes, the world melded more, whites became greys. Connor squinted at the paper in his grip, held it closer as he tried to pick out individual letters from the patches of black on grey.

“You okay there?” Hank asked him as he looked over their terminals.

“Just fine,” he replied and pulled the paper a little closer still.

“You sure? Squinting like that is going to give you wrinkles.”

Of course Hank tried to make light of it, alleviate the worry that Connor refused to accept growing in his chest. But it didn’t change the fact that something was wrong, creeping through his circuitry and interrupting his visual feed. His HUD hadn’t shown up any analyses in the last hour, no objectives flashed in his vision. In that moment, Connor felt utterly human and he hated it.

With a sigh he put down his folder and looked up at Hank, marvelled at how his face lacked its usual wrinkles until he realised that he couldn’t see the flecks of colour in his eyes anymore. His hair was a grey blend as Connor struggled to pick out each individual strand. No matter how many times he blinked, he couldn’t bring it all into focus.

He tried to keep working, pulled files he couldn’t interact with closer to his face, scowled and squinted at them as he tried to will them into focus. With each passing hour it became more difficult. His peripheral vision stayed fairly sharp, if Connor tilted his head he could just about make out what was on the papers but it ate up his processing power to maintain focus on such a small sliver of his optical unit. He had to keep taking breaks, his neck angled at an unnatural tilt against the files he held and he couldn’t help but feel that people were starting to notice.

“Alright,” Hank stretched and got up from his desk, “I am done for the day. Come on, we’re going home.”

A quick tip of his head revealed that it was only just gone three in the afternoon but Connor wished he could take a few hours to recharge. Perhaps Hank would let him do just that. They walked to the car in silence and Connor needed two attempts to successfully find the handle on the car door. Thankfully Hank either didn’t see it or had the good grace to not mention it.

Back home, Connor waded through the house on a mixture of muscle memory and glimpses of grey shapes. He didn’t say anything as he sank down onto the bed and relished the flow of electricity from the charger. Slipping into stasis, he hoped that he would wake up with everything restored to normal.

It was dark when he woke up. Pitch black in a way he’d not experienced the world before. Usually his LED lit up the room and his night vision kicked in below a certain light threshold but in that moment there was nothing. Connor’s fingers skimmed against his LED which hummed on his temple. It seemed to be working fine.

Carefully, Connor pulled himself up, feet landed on the floor with a thud and he took a moment to orient himself. His memories of the room were recent and as Connor stood, he stepped over his discarded shoes. The trip to the door was uneventful and Connor was determined not to wake Hank. He was going to go to the kitchen, turn the lights on and figure out why it was so dark.

The door opened under his hand and he slipped out, his memories carefully alerting him to how many steps before he had to turn right to avoid colliding with the far wall. He stuck a hand out in front of him just in case but successfully avoided crashing into anything.

Some noise from the living room distracted him from his mission to get to the kitchen. Instead, he turned towards the noise, almost like the TV was on, but it couldn’t be because it was so dark. Connor slowly made his way towards the sound, he didn’t expect his foot to catch on anything and he tumbled forward with a sharp cry. The corner of the coffee table cracked hard against his cheek and thirium gushed from the wound.

“What the fuck?” Hank’s sleep thick voice cried out and hands were on Connor’s shoulder immediately, pulling him up.

“Hank?” Connor asked, worry seeping into his core.

“What the hell are you playing at?” Hank grumbled as he pulled a tissue from somewhere and pressed it to Connor’s cheek.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were asleep, it’s late.”

“What you talking about? It’s barely gone seven; I was taking a nap while you were charging.”

His internal clock wasn’t on display, Connor noted with panic. If it was only seven in the evening then the sun ought to only start setting rather than plunge the world into darkness.

“Why you looking at the wall behind me?” Hank’s voice drew Connor from his thoughts.

“I wasn’t. I was looking at you.”

Lies. Blatant lies and even Hank couldn’t believe them anymore.

“You can’t see, can you?” he asked.

Connor bit his lip and tipped his head down in shame as he shook his head.

“Explains why you tripped over my foot. Come on,” Hanks’ warm hands hauled him up onto the sofa and helped him settle. “We’ll just listen to the TV for a bit, this too shall pass.”

It was a soft reassurance, one that Connor desperately held onto even as the closed captioning on the TV kicked in and a soft voice began to describe what was going on in whatever Hank had been watching.

**Author's Note:**

> Lurking away on tumblr as @connorssock. It seems I'm currently enjoying torturing poor Connor.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [System Overload](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16904994) by [RK_800_51](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RK_800_51/pseuds/RK_800_51)




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